


Like a Sunburn, But More Fun

by SangreFria



Series: The Stolen Kiss Series [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-03
Updated: 2011-04-03
Packaged: 2017-10-17 13:08:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/177160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SangreFria/pseuds/SangreFria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wasn't in Monaco to run, or to hide. But knowing that Arthur was hot on his heels, knowing that Arthur had clearly already made up his mind, was tickling all of Eames' finely-tuned instincts. When a man like Arthur starts hunting you, your first priority is to get your precious arse on the next flight to <i>anywhere</i>. Full stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Sunburn, But More Fun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jibrailis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jibrailis/gifts).



Eames took several deep, bracing breaths of briny Mediterranean air and leaned heavily against the ornate balustrade, the only thing separating him from a fatal plunge into the gardens far below. All things considered, he genuinely hoped it wouldn't come to that.

He draped his sportcoat over the balustrade as well and looked out into the deepening darkness, the lights from yachts forming a mirror image of the starry sky on the glassy black water. He absently brushed his fingers over the heavy tweed beneath his hands, unnecessary warmth on a balmy night like this one, and mulled over his current position.

Arthur was here, in Monte Carlo. Just arrived this morning in Nice on a flight from Madrid, then crossed over the border into Monaco less than an hour later, according to one of Eames' eyes and ears at passport control. Rainier had seemed vaguely surprised that Eames had put out a red flag on Arthur in the first place, but Eames didn't slip him euros to ask questions.

The job in Madrid had only been three days ago, though it sometimes felt like a lifetime. Three days was plenty of time for Eames to think, to plan, but knowing that Arthur was already _here_ made his heart pound.

He wasn't in Monaco to run, or to hide. But knowing that Arthur was hot on his heels, knowing that Arthur had clearly already made up his mind, was tickling all of Eames' finely-tuned instincts. When a man like Arthur starts hunting you, your first priority is to get your precious arse on the next flight to _anywhere_. Full stop.

So viewed from his current perspective, three days wasn't an eternity at all. It felt like barely enough time to brace himself for what was coming. Then again, he shouldn't be surprised; Arthur generally wasn't one to hesitate, now was he?

In which case, he wouldn't be surprised if Arthur sought him out tonight. The rooftop of the Hôtel de Paris à Monaco would be a rather dramatic venue for this meeting, but it was a private place where they wouldn't be interrupted. And Eames supposed that there were far less glamorous places to die, if that's how it played out.

Because this meeting wasn't going to be passive. Arthur wasn't going to be passive. You don't track a man across several borders like this just to say, "Thanks for violating me in my dreams, but I'm not interested in a relationship." If that were Arthur's decision, Eames was sure he could have just ignored him. And knowing Arthur, he could probably ignore Eames with the kind of single-minded meticulousness that might even manage to blot his very face out of existence.

So there were two ways that this was going to go. Arthur was either going to beat the shite out of him, or fuck the shite out of him. And Arthur would probably wear the same expression of stone-cold intensity while doing either, and in all honesty Eames wasn't sure which scenario was more terrifying.

The roof access door swung closed with a quiet but definitive click. Eames stifled his first instinct to whip around, his second instinct to draw a gun, and his third instinct to laugh like a madman. The thought that it might be one of the hotel staff sneaking up here to smoke a quick fag was immediately dismissed; he could hear the light tapping sound of Italian leather shoes, and he'd know that precise, measured gait anywhere.

Eames had checked into the hotel with the same alias he had used during a job in Bruges three years back, and Arthur knew that Eames preferred to take to higher ground when he was being pursued. It must have been child's play for a man of Arthur's talents.

"You chose Monte Carlo." Arthur's voice was calm, smooth; he could just as well be reading the morning paper aloud for all the inflection he put into it.

Eames decided to take it in stride, turned smoothly on the spot to face him, and put on his most charming smile. "I thought we could try again, darling. If you fancy it, that is."

Arthur's lips tightened almost imperceptibly, a minute expression that was gone in a flash. He took a step closer and shoved Eames back against the balustrade, hands pressing and then tightening in the fine cotton separating him from Eames' chest, using it to haul himself right up against him in a way that made Eames' breath stutter in his throat.

It was only a kiss in the most technical sense, because Jesus Christ, Arthur was _devouring_ him, hips pressing forward, pinning him in place, hands pulling hard enough at his open collar to start popping the buttons on his shirt clean off. Eames' hands found Arthur's hips and squeezed out of what felt like pure self-preservation.

Having Arthur like this, the hot sinuous feel of him under Eames' hands, was dangerous and perfect and he knew that if they didn't make it to his room _right now_ they weren't going to make it at all.

Eames maneuvered them around and slowly began to step backwards toward the door. He didn't even bother trying to break the kiss; once he wound his fist around Arthur's narrow black Italian style tie, feeling the silk tighten sensuously in his grip as he pulled, Arthur simply followed his lead.

Frankly, Eames was surprised that they managed to make it; of course, hoping to make it as far as the bed would be sheer insanity. Thankfully, the white carpeting was deep and plush, and with Arthur spread naked over it, a fine sheen of sweat on his skin, it looked like the height of decadence.

Arthur had brought condoms, Arthur had brought lube, and _bloody shitting hell_ if that didn't make Eames' blood run even hotter.

Eames didn't even know if Arthur had done this before; he didn't ask, and Arthur didn't say. But seeing him like this, holding his own thighs open for Eames, the deep flush spreading down his neck, the candid and exquisite expressions that crossed his face when Eames pushed, stretched, wiggled, and pressed with his fingers, it was _beautiful_.

Arthur, losing himself in the throes of passion, was art. And Eames was a firm believer of patronizing the arts. The world suffered for lack of beauty, and Eames was going to cultivate it as often as humanly possible.

That first tight slide into Arthur made Eames scramble to squeeze the base of his cock and just breathe. Arthur was doing a characteristically thorough job of scratching his back to ribbons, making high, choked sounds every time Eames moved the way he liked best, and Eames was loving every fucking second of it.

It didn't take long before Arthur was imposing his own rhythm, rocking with Eames and digging his heels into his arse with enough pressure to be just this side of frantic. Eames obliged, thrusting with enough force to shift Arthur's body several inches across the carpet before hauling him back. Arthur's dark eyes appeared completely black, pupils blown, glinting up at Eames with a scorching look that made him reach for where Arthur was slick and aching hard between their bellies.

Arthur grabbed his face by both cheeks, pulling him down for a breathless kiss that turns into a bite as Arthur's muscles clench tight. It's too much, too good, and his orgasm roars through him with a force that leaves him sprawled on Arthur's chest, wet with sweat and come.

Arthur was running his fingers along Eames' spine, soothing and hypnotic; a sweet counterpoint to the stinging scratches that Arthur had laid there earlier, and Eames has never been so pleased with himself for defiling expensive carpeting.

 

\-----------

 

Arthur padded around the room barefoot, wearing only his unbuttoned trousers, collecting his clothes. Eames watched from the bed, still nude, and let his eyes roam over Arthur's lean body.

Early morning light shifted across the planes of Arthur's back as he turned to reach for his discarded tie, the paleness of his skin highlighting a rosy pink rug burn. It ran in a long streak down his spine, tapering slightly as it disappeared beneath the waistline of his trousers. Eames was struck by a sudden, desperate desire to see how far it went, wanted to tease Arthur's open trousers down inch by inch and chase it with his lips.

Arthur shrugged into his crisp white shirt, barely wrinkled from its night on the floor, and Eames felt distinctly cheated. This simply wouldn't do. He rolled out of bed and approached Arthur softly from behind, sliding his hands up Arthur's arms before tugging at the shirt collar.

Arthur hadn't buttoned it yet, so it slid easily downwards; Eames set to work, nibbling at Arthur's neck, pushing the shirt further until it pooled and bunched at Arthur's elbows. Eames began to lay sucking, open-mouthed kisses across his exposed shoulders. "Darling..."

"Marseilles is nice this time of year." Arthur's tone was calm and clear, but Eames could see a blush spreading from his cheeks to his ears, and he knew a loaded statement when he heard one. He gently pressed his hand to the middle of Arthur's back, where the skin was more red than pink, and felt Arthur shift deliberately back into the burning sting of it.

"Is that so?" He made sure that his voice rumbled right into Arthur's ear, and bent his head to press his lips to where his neck met his shoulder. "Come back to bed, love. We can leave for Marseilles tomorrow..."

Arthur let his shirt slide off his wrists and drop to the floor.


End file.
